


Hush now, Mo Stóirín

by CloverTheGrand



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Bilingual Character(s), Bullying, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Dead Parents, F/F, Family Feels, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gaelic Language, Genderbending, Imaginary Friends, Ireland, Irish Language, Irish Mythology - Freeform, Mystery, Repressed Memories, Selkie Aziraphale (Good Omens), Selkies, Slow Burn, Sort of? - Freeform, also the author is an Australian so some Irish culture facts may be wrong, but then I forgot to genderbend Anathema and Newt so whoops hgdkf, well a lot of characters are genderbent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24753013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloverTheGrand/pseuds/CloverTheGrand
Summary: Even though he left the second they finished scattering their father's ashes, Crowley couldn't blame the fact that Lucian had to leave the isle of Hel so soon. It did not mean that she would enjoy staying on the isle, however.Hel was too superstitious for its own good. Every house had a horseshoe and a bough of beathnua baineann over the door. The cobblestone of the town square was set in cold iron. Even the residents were all named after demons, ancient Gods, and monsters in order to ward off the fairies that seemed to live here. And maybe Crowley would forgive them... if they weren’t so insistent that her mother’s drowning was done by the Good People.Crowley couldn't quite handle living here alone. Crowley could not handle it all— the isolation, the grief. She really needed a friend to help her sort through all this.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 25
Collections: Good AUmens AU Fest





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you for clicking on this fic! As a disclaimer, I am not Irish, though I’ve had always been a fan of Irish culture and mythology. To further the disclaimer, the fictional town Hel does take inspiration from Irish mythology, but a lot of the culture is derived from fiction.
> 
> Unfortunately, because I had been procrastinating on this fic a lot, mostly due to how much schoolwork I’m behind, I’m only able to post the prologue, even if the prose is not working well. Hopefully, I’ll be able to post chapter 1 on the weekends, though I think that this fic may update fortnightly.
> 
> Happy reading!

When she heard the floorboards creaking outside of her room, Ashtoreth had thought that her mother or father was simply getting up to get a glass of water before walking back to bed. She didn’t think much of it so she simply snuggled back into bed. There was a cold breeze that blew despite the gas heaters warming their room. It was only once the front door slammed shut, loud as a gunshot, that Ashtoreth and her brother jolted wide awake.

Ashtoreth rubbed her eyes and sat up, wondering why anyone would get up at the middle of the night. She complained about it to her brother Lucifer, expecting a mean remark. However, Lucifer was quiet. 

Without a second word, he dragged her off of her bed. Ashtoreth yelped and objected, yelling what he was doing-- however, when she saw what was outside their window, Ashtoreth realised why.

Their bedroom window overlooked a beach. But tonight, their mother drifted like a ghost across the sands and into the waves.

Without even bothering with clothes or even shoes, Lucifer dragged Ashtoreth outside across the cold, wet cobblestone and onto the beach, not even caring about how numb their hands and feet got from the cold. But by then, it was too late.

Their mother’s eyes were open, unblinking, but glazed with a stiff glassy sheen as she walked into the waves. She kept on going, never minding how freezing and violent the waters became until the inky waves touched her chin. Slowly, willingly. And yet she kept on going.

Lucifer told Ashtoreth to stay back, and then dove inside the waves despite her protests. Ashtoreth saw her mother’s head re-emerge from the waves as Lucifer dragged her to the surface and swim back. 

But then Lucifer screamed when something dragged him under the waves.

Their mother’s head dipped under shortly afterwards. Ashtoreth called out for her mother, for Lucifer. Only the sound of water replied.

And suddenly Ashtoreth was left alone, on the cold, dark, beach. 

The chill of the beach’s winds enveloped her. The sky was dyed an inky black, lest for a solidary moon. Ashtoreth shivered and knelt down, paralysed, and cried. 

But when she opened her eyes again, someone was in front of her, blocking the light of the moon. A girl. Even though Ashtoreth could only see her shadow, she knew that it was a girl.

The girls’ white fur coat shimmered in the moonlight as the waves lapped at her feet. Her short hair was like a tuft of seafoam. Ashtoreth held her breath when the girl turned her head around. 

It was her selkie friend.

And then she woke up. 

Ashtoreth was inside of her bed as if nothing had happened. Except the lights outside of her bedroom door were on. Lucifer was missing from his bed. And she could hear dad frantically talking with the town’s Garda, explaining he did not know what happened to “her.” Mum. What was happening? What was going on? 

Ashtoreth’s mother told her stories about people swept away by the fairies, cruel tricks they did to whichever foolish mortal crossed them. Her mother’s never done anything wrong. Did she? And sure, maybe Ashtoreth never liked Lucifer, but even Lucifer did not deserve what he got.

Ashtoreth pulled her covers over herself closer and sniffed. 

Please let this only be a nightmare.

Please.

* * *

_Come away, o human child!_

_To the Waters and the wild._

_With a fairy hand in hand,_

_For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand._

_\- The Stolen Child" by W. B. Yeats_


	2. To Hel and Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been so LONG wow. No regular updates yet-- school exams and such. But I'd rather finish this chapter now than to put even more of a hiatus until after my exams finish.
> 
> Happy reading!

Crowley watched as the ferry carrying Lucian drifted back to the mainland. 

This peninsula of a town used to have an isthmus of a road that connected it to mainland. But because of one of Donegal's earthquakes, the only way here was by a remote ferry service that operated only once. It was clear that Lucian had wanted to get out of this place as soon as the funeral was finished, though Crowley couldn’t blame him for doing so. They had both performed the bare minimum of what was necessary. Spent time with their deceased father, attended the cremation and scattered his ashes at the cillín. 

There was no need for Lucian to stay here anymore. His work here was done. Crowley, on the other hand… well. Someone had to stay behind to pick up the pieces. Someone had to clean up their father’s belongings. Crowley had not visited their old house yet-- their father was already at the mortician’s once they had arrived, ready for the cremation. She wasn’t mad about it-- he had nearly drowned on Hel’s beaches once, and Lucian had changed so much since Crowley had seen him last that he might as well be a total stranger, anyway. 

The sky bloomed a tired saccharine orange as the sun dipped down the horizon, the many clouds dappling a dusky slate colour. Crowley remembered this sky from when she was small. She would roam the isle’s beaches all day after school all by herself as long as she came back home by sunset. London and Dublin’s sunsets were not as clean nor clear as it was here, where the sky melted into the infinite sea. 

If only the circumstances were different. "I will die when I die," their dad had said. "Once the time comes I will wander off into the woods, lie down, and pass on. There are no trees here, true, only shrubs, but you get the gist." 

Crowley was snapped out of her thoughts when someone else sat beside her. A pair of sweaty fingers drifted into her gaze and offered her a cigarette. Crowley glared and inched away. Hastur shrugged and popped the cigarette into her mouth, her gaze concentrated on the ferry, by now a pinprick on the horizon.

Hastur probably was trying to find Lucian. Crowley knew that Lucian and Hastur had been friends as kids. Back before welfare took her and Lucian away, that was. Maybe it was puzzling for Hastur and the others to process how their friend was taken away, but she didn’t care. Crowley put a hand between her and Hastur before putting her glasses back on.

“Mar sin,” Hastur croaked as she lit the cigarette. “Aon scéal?”

Crowley faced Hastur and blinked. Then she remembered.

“Right. Erhm… diabhal an scéal.” The words fell off clumsily from Crowley’s tongue. Hastur squinted at her.

“You’ve gone rusty,” she said in English.

“Fuck off. What do you want?”

Hastur grovelled and pulled her cigarette out. “Ligur thought that it would be nice to catch Lucifer just before he went back.” Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“You know. He goes by Lucian now.”

“Lucian, Lucifer, not much of a difference anyways. You still go by Ashtoreth or what?”

“Not a lot of people on the mainland are named after demons. I wonder why.”

“You know the old ways.” Fucking hell. Crowley rubbed the bridge of her nose. “To ward of the Good People-“

“She drowned. She wasn’t blinked or swept away by the fairies, and it didn’t have bloody anything to do with the fact with her name. Why don’t you stick to your own business?”

Hastur blew out a gust of smoke and squinted. “She?”

Crowley growled. “My mother! Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how rapidly that theory spread around, that fairies took her away.”

“It was popular town gossip, Ash-”

“Jocelyn.”

“Whatever. I just said whatever my father and mother said.” Crowley glared at Hastur from behind her glasses. Hastur chuffed. "Blimey. I'm trying to make amends, don't you see? We’ll need to anyway! Just… just let me explain!"

"Oh yeah. Say a few apologies. Hug it out. Maybe that will undo all the years of bullying you’ve done to me!” 

Hastur frowned and tried to find a reason, but wasn’t able to. Not a word later, Hastur stood up, stomped on her cigarette, and walked towards her car, a shoddy Hyundai model with a dent in its hood. 

Crowley kicked a rock away and traipsed back to the rental Citroën 2cv. Hastur was right— her wife Ligur was Hel’s cremator. Whatever possession Crowley needed to get, she needed to go to the crematorium. 

Crowley crawled inside and rubbed her hands together, shivering as she warmed her hands. It was in the car’s silence that she noticed just how shaken she was. Her hands were quivering like twigs in the wind. She released a breath. Crowley shook her head and sighed, taking off her sunglasses and rubbing her eyes. She wasn’t quite herself then, when she talked to Hastur. Even though a sense of pride swelled inside her after finally telling her off, a hollow cavity sank within Crowley.

In the car’s mirror, she could see her coloboma in its full glory. A pair of pupils that spilt into two vertical bars. Her golden eyes just made them look even more reptilian. Inhuman. Crowley covered them up with the glasses and looked away. 

Crowley left the docks’ parking lot and drove further inland. As Hel had a population of about 150 people, there weren’t any global rental car agencies situated here, so you had to ask a bloke named Baal with a collection of spare cars. The car was a lemon-coloured Citroën 2cv, a model from 1961. Its heater was broken, so a portable one was given with the rented car. The outside had some wear and tear, but that was expected because there weren’t any car repairs on this island. Though a fine model, Crowley had to face that it was a poor substitute for her Bentley back in London. Ironically vintage was not a style here, but rather using what was available. 

Her antsy fingers tapped on the steering wheel as she drove through the old neighbourhood that she grew up in. Crowley looked out of the Citroën's window as she drove through the neighbourhood. Everything seemed so small now-- once bright buildings in her youth have paint faded, some repainted. Most of the shops remained unchanged. Some kids looked at Crowley, and Crowley pitied them for having to live here. 

Soon the ground stopped being paved with gravel that rattled the undersides of the car but smoothened cobblestone. Crowley knew that Hel's town square was set in cold iron. Supposedly the town square was the safest place to gather, as no fairy could step over cold iron. When the shops transformed into houses, she saw that bouquets of herbs and horseshoes still hung over the front doors. Glad to see everyone still clung onto the old ways like a limpet to a rock

At last, she stopped in front of her family's house. Crowley could only frown as she looked at the door. The last time she saw the front doors was several years ago. The horseshoe over the door was long rusted, the hook used to hang the herbs was empty. 

Crowley pulled out the envelope with the house's key that Ligur gave her. She plugged it into the lock of the house, the lock that was once too high for her and Lucian to reach. The door swung open, tempting her to traipse into the dark. 

The cracked floorboards creaked beneath her feet. Crowley could not believe that she forgot how cold it was inside this house as if the cold was a bully you had forgotten but had the unpleasant experience of seeing again. Crowley shivered as she wrapped her coat tighter around herself. Too bad their house never had a modern heater.

While she saw a white oil heater plugged into the wall, Crowley knew that she needed something more immediate. Out of the corner of her eye, Crowley saw the fireplace, and she felt a sense of relief. She dug out a lighter and lit the newspaper before placing a few chopped logs inside as well. Remembering that she needed to let the flames fully envelope the kindling first, Crowley bent down and blew at the flame, letting it spread across the surface of the newspaper. Just as her mother taught her to do it. The flame flickered, as if waking up, then spread across the entire surface. Crowley used the poker to lead the flame to the wood, wrapping around her knees as she watched the warm fire crackle and pop. 

Her family used to do this together. And now with her mother gone, her brother at the mainland, and her father dead, it was only her crouching in front of the fireplace now. The smell of home enveloped her, but also a stench of booze. Her father’s corpse had only been found by the neighbours, but thankfully the cold climate of Hel meant that there was no smell of decomposition.

Crowley soon drifted to sleep. When she woke up, it was by the sounds of rain. The room outside was a deep twilight blue, signifying that she had to leave soon.

Crowley planned what to do. First, the pantry needed to be cleared. Then the clothes needed to be boxed and sent to the op shop. Then some possessions needed to be picked out and finally figure out what to do with the furniture. Her dad did not leave any sort of will, so it made the task of what to take home and what to leave behind all the more daunting. 

Crowley stood up. The day was getting dark, and a storm was coming. She could start cleaning the place up tomorrow. 

* * *

The rain bucketed down the windshield of the Citroën, marbling the visage as they poured off the slanted glass. Because of the temperature difference of inside and outside the car, the glass fogged up, so Crowley had to grip her sleeve to rub it away. Even with the headlights switched on, the fog outside obscured Crowley’s vision, forcing her to drive slowly. 

Not a soul was around for miles-- they were likely cooped inside of their houses, crowded near the heaters or even gone off to bed. The daylight hours were short in Hel, where the shops closed early and the shit weather forced everyone to stay at home anyway. Crowley shivered and spun the dial of the heater some more. Blasted rain, freezing everything it touched to be as cold as a corpse. At least if the same weather happened in London, Crowley would just turn on the heating of her apartment and use the time to practise violin. The joints of Crowley’s knuckles ached as she flexed them on the steering wheel. She missed her home in London. At least there, life could continue on as normal. At least there Crowley could forget about her past and-

Crowley stomped onto the brake pedal at a curious sight. She peered outside and even tilted her glasses up to make sure that it was not a trick of the light. 

A young lady her age was walking in the rain without an umbrella. 

Apart from her gumboots, what she wore did not seem to suit the weather at all. That woollen Aran turtleneck dragged downwards as it soaked the rain like a sponge, which Crowley was sure chilled her to the bone. Her golden, springy locks clumped together as the rain slid off them. She still walked anyway, her face a neutral expression, her blue eyes not even squinting from the falling rain, as if she was traipsing during a fine sunny day. 

Despite what the girl’s nonchalant expression suggested, Crowley knew that she had to at least give her a lift. It did help that Crowley did not recognise her from before, so she knew that there wouldn’t be any drama between them like with her and Hastur. Crowley put her glasses down and pulled over. The young lady froze and stared like a deer in the headlights. Wouldn’t blame her-- fancy having a stranger pull in next to you like the Guards. Crowley rolled down the car’s window and was about to speak when she remembered: right, this was a Gaeltacht region. This stranger was probably a tourist who came here specifically to practise her Gaelic. Would be rude to speak in English. What was the Gaelic word for Gaelic again?

“Gaeilge?” Crowley inquired. The syllables still did not meld with her tongue well, but at least she tried.

The blonde tilted her head just the tiniest bit as she peered through the car’s window. “English is fine, I think,” she said. Contrary to what Crowley had thought, she had a thick accent on her, as the lilt monolingual seniors in the town had. It impressed and embarrassed Crowley that the girl recognised her rustiness and opted to speak in English out of manners. They could work in that. So of course, Crowley started with the most English idiom she could think of. 

“It’s raining cats and dogs out here, innit?”

The girl swept her blonde locks out of the way. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said it’s... raining cats and dogs out here, innit?”

“Why. Yes. Of course!” And she smiled so unassumingly.

Crowley cocked her head. “Where did your umbrella go?”

The blonde’s smile ebbed away. “Oh. I…”

“Horrid weather since this afternoon. Surefire way to tell it’ll rain. What happened to yours?”

"I er… I gave it away."

Crowley blinked. Then she blinked again. "You what?"

"I gave it away!" She cried. "There was a pregnant mother. I can stand a little water. So I gave her my umbrella. ‘Tis only a light drizzle, and I don’t have far to go anyways.” 

Crowley rested her hands on the steering wheel and fiddled with her fingers. What a kind act. Choosing to get drenched in the icy rain so that someone else can be dry. Too bad Crowley had an umbrella. And a raincoat. And a car with heating. 

Despite the pelting rain, Crowley rolled down the window low enough to pass the young lady her umbrella. She then unbuckled her seatbelt and took off her raincoat before lining it onto the back seat. 

“Hop in. I’ll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go.”

The girl looked curiously back and forth between Crowley and the seat. “Are you sure?”

“Don’t worry, angel. I don’t bite.” Crowley grinned.

All traces of doubt on her face disappeared as her cheeks bloomed a pink colour. After she squeezed away the water in her hair and jumper, the blonde walked towards the handle but stopped.

“Yeah, it’s one of those vintage car door handles, so they’re a little funny to use at first, er…”

“Alice,” she finished as she hopped inside. “My name is Alice. Yours?”

Crowley drummed her fingers onto the steering wheel. “People call me Crowley.” The rain outside of the windows poured as the wipers methodically cleaned the windshield. “Say, how long have you been here?”

“Oh, well, I’m just a short-term visitor. No more than a few weeks, really.”

Crowley nodded. The way Alice’s definition of a short-term stay meant a few weeks did make her raise an eyebrow, but maybe Alice simply meant two weeks, potentially more. “Staying at the inn, I presume?”

“Erhm, no! I’m staying at a family friend’s.”

Crowley pulled up a smile but mentally facepalmed herself. Of course; the price of staying at the inn for several weeks would be astronomical. Why did she suggest so? “Gotcha. What’s the address?” 

“It’s at the top of Seasmaín Lane. A bookshop named Bothán Nothard.” Crowley could not help but notice how much like water the words rolled off Alice’s tongue.

While Crowley opened Google Maps on her phone, to her despair the white circle of doom answered. Bad island mobile reception. Fortunately, Alice was able to give her directions and guided them to the bookshop. It was during this time that Crowley learnt a bit more about Alice.

Alice was from the Donegal town of Béal Átha Seanaidh (which Crowley did not know was a Gaeltacht region). She was visiting a family friend of hers who worked in Hel as a doctor (recently moved back after studying in Harvard Medical School). However the bookshop was where the family lived, which, during the day, was run by her husband. Alice and the family friend (Anathema, her name was. Crowley couldn’t help but shiver when she heard that. Some traditions never do die) knew each other as their mothers (both from Hel) had been friends since they were children. Even so, Alice had only recently met Anathema in the flesh as she herself was raised in Béal Átha Seanaidh, but she hoped to use the few weeks to catch up on the years, which could explain why Crowley had never seen her. 

By the time they had arrived at the bookshop, the night was dark and the rain had calmed down. Even though Crowley was forced to drive slowly thanks to the weather and she took a few wrong turns, it astounded her that Alice was planning to walk this far, in the evening, uphill, without an umbrella. Golden light shone out of the Bothán Nothard’s windows that silhouetted the arched window frames and the lace curtains. Crowley and Alice hopped out of the Citroën to say their goodbyes for the evening, but Crowley had to stop in her tracks. 

She could hear the beach from here. 

Crowley remembered that suddenly freezing like that in the rain probably looked weird to Alice. True to Crowley’s suspicions, Alice was standing underneath the front door’s arch, looking at her in concern. Crowley gave out a sheepish chuckle for her and shrugged. “Pardon me. Thought I forgot where I chucked my room key for a second.”

Alice let out a sigh of relief and nodded. She ran her fingers through her hair. “Well. Thank you for your trouble, Crowley.”

“No problem.”

She waved as she opened the door. “See you next time!” And Alice walked inside. 

The silence of the rain and the waves were deafening. A chill was creeping up her spine. At the base of the hill was the beach, and beyond that were the icy claws of the ocean. She couldn’t help her reaction-- Crowley had a nightmare about the beach when she was a child. 

Crowley blinked. But the clouds obscured any light of the beach. A lighthouse in the distance scissored through the fog and rain, its foghorns rumbling like a snore, announcing everything around of the behemoth’s presence. Crowley did not have to think about being alone on that beach in her nightmares, with the cackle of the ocean mocking that small child, so helpless and soft compared to the cruelty of nature.

The trip back to the inn went by like a blur, and Crowley was lying inside of her bed. The wind outside howled and the rain poured. Crowley felt trapped within the little white room with only a tweed heirloom quilt and the lamplight for company. As long as it wasn’t outside, she supposed. Crowley stuffed her earbuds into her ears, turned off the lamp, and let the best of Queen album lull her to sleep. 

She would need it, considering what was to come in the next two weeks.


End file.
